


Rubato

by rhodion



Category: Deltarune (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 09:19:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhodion/pseuds/rhodion
Summary: Kris has always found it easier to speak through music than words.





	Rubato

**Author's Note:**

> For Vivi, with love.

They find the piano tucked away beneath a tree that’s as withered as it is, leaving them only able to speculate about the magnificence that it must have once held. 

When Kris approaches the instrument they do so with a sense of urgency that has Ralsei hiking up his robes to keep up. There’s an apology somewhere for the concern that Ralsei will inevitably voice at the change in Kris’ demeanor, but it’s lost as Kris runs their hand over the weathered wood and wonders when it had last had the fortune of being played. 

“What’s a piano doing out here in the middle of a field?” Ralsei asks, and Kris has the sneaking suspicion that if Susie were with them she would ridicule him for voicing aloud the obvious. 

But for Kris the sincerity with which Ralsei speaks - the same as always, Kris notes with a suggestion of a smile - is endearing enough to quell the paradoxical concoction of envy and admiration that they feel. For their words never come nearly so easy, never risk the taunts and jeers that surely lie in wait on the other side of breathing life into small vulnerabilities. 

“Puzzle?” Kris ventures with a quizzical tilt of their head. They recall the Jigsawry they’d passed not too long ago who had regaled them with the woes of being ousted from their position by royal decree, and wonders if such a puzzle had been heartlessly cast aside during the exchange of power. 

‘Rouxls Kaard’ is a name that carries little meaning to Kris, but they suddenly find themselves unable to divorce it from the image of this piano’s purpose being dashed alongside a family’s dreams.

“It’s a shame,” Ralsei laments, and though his face is largely lost to the obscurity of shadow, Kris can make out a sympathetic pout. “It deserves better than this, don’t you think? So do the people who made it.”

Ralsei slowly - timidly, Kris thinks, as if he doesn’t deem himself worthy to touch such a creation - extends a hand and rests it on the cover. The propped up wood has left the inner mechanisms of the instrument exposed to the elements, their only protection the gnarled branches of the tree that solemnly stands sentry.

“I’ve never heard one of these myself,” Ralsei sheepishly admits. His hand begins to wander but never dares to brush the keys, even as Kris takes a seat at the bench and begins to run their own fingers along the ivories. “My kingdom is a rather quiet one. Our roads don’t usually have something so...” He pauses, as if searching for a word to describe the awe and reverence with which he explores the worn wood. “So fantastical on them.”

Kris recalls the desolation that had greeted them upon their arrival to the Dark World. The land prior to the Great Door had felt hostile, as if the earth itself were rejecting their presence and had long ago resigned itself to solitude. Their passage beyond the boundary of Ralsei’s domain had seen a shift from eerie to whimsy, and Kris wonders if Ralsei has ever had the privilege of knowing music that could accompany his hymns and lullabies.

And they spare a thought for the piano as well. How long since it had been blessed with the opportunity to play something other than the dirges of a people who had been left behind by those they sought to serve?

“I play,” Kris finally says. Their fingers cease wandering, now having acquired a certain familiarity with the keys. It’s not as intimate as their relationship with those of the hospital piano, but Kris figures that Ralsei will be a charitable audience. 

“You do?” Ralsei says, and it’s more an expression of awe than disbelief, which is what Kris has come to expect from such an admission. “Would you, um...”

Ralsei fiddles with his hat. Kris finds it charming, and can’t resist being coy with their response. “Would I...?”

The fluff of Ralsei’s ears seems to bristle for a moment, and Kris doesn’t doubt that Ralsei knows full well he’s being teased and wheedled into requesting something; and though their time together has been short, Kris has quickly learned that Ralsei is far too reserved when it comes to putting forth his own wants and desires. 

“I’d love to hear a song,” Ralsei says. He continues to grip the brim of his hat as if it’s a safety blanket. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

He looks to be bracing himself for more teasing, but Kris is happy to quit playing hard to get now and oblige. “Sure,” they say, and just to play up Ralsei’s expectations a little more they stretch their arms and give their fingers a theatric crack before assuming position above the keys.

Ralsei’s eyes go innocently wide. He leans against the piano and peers in intently, tracking the motion of Kris’ fingers as they play the opening notes to a song that has stuck with Kris since their childhood.

The piano is out of tune. The first few bars are dissonant with the ones that Kris recalls playing alongside Asriel, who always struggled to manage the same level of dexterity as his human sibling. But given the circumstances they can’t complain with the piano’s performance, and the familiar melody evokes the same feeling of a carefree duet played on a rainy day, with the scent of hot chocolate and butterscotch pie accompanying the notes. 

“Wow,” Ralsei says, the word little more than an exhalation. He’s a silent observer at first, but it isn’t long before his voice and his affinity for music finds him and he begins to hum along to the tune that Kris is playing.

Kris pauses for a moment to pat the empty space next to them on the bench. “Want to try?” they ask, and Ralsei practically glows beneath his hat.

As he takes a seat beside Kris, he appears to be intimated by the sea of ebony and ivory that greets him. He gingerly extends a hand but stops before playing a single note; perhaps afraid that he won’t be able to produce the same sound that Kris does so effortlessly. 

“Let me show you,” Kris says. It would be easy to lead by example and have Ralsei follow in the steps of their fingers, but it’s with a mischievous smile that Kris opts for an alternative approach. 

“Kris?” Ralsei squeaks, his voice a near octave above its usual timbre. He goes still as Kris rests their hand on top of his own and guides it along, mapping out the first measure of the song.

“Just like that,” Kris murmurs, pressing their index fingers down in tandem on the C key. “See? You’re getting the hang of it.”

Ralsei coughs. There’s an enticing warmth radiating from him, and looking over Kris can catch a blush coloring his cheeks. “I have a good teacher,” he says.

Kris removes their hand eventually, but not after leaving it on for a period of time that had stopped being for the sake of instruction and more for their own indulgence. They watch as Ralsei plays, feeling a surge of pride at the way that his fingers grow more steady and assured with each repetition. They allow their shoulder to brush against Ralsei’s, relishing the way that Ralsei’s rhythm falters for a moment at the contact.

Much like Asriel’s it’s not quite as refined as Kris’ own playing, but the sound still resonates richly in what feels like a singularity that they’ve stumbled upon. And though Kris is now the observer, for the first time since the bygone days of a simpler childhood they feel heard.


End file.
